


The Alien Who Space Loved Me

by orphan_account



Category: The Yogscast, spacemen
Genre: M/M, Tentabulges, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-17
Updated: 2013-04-17
Packaged: 2017-12-08 17:31:43
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Orange and Blue are happy exploring the stars and getting into trouble, and then Orange goes into mating season. Space mating season. Pretty much just an excuse to write something with a tentacle dick in it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Alien Who Space Loved Me

You're in a battle when you first notice something's up with Orange. He seems-- nervous, skittery, like he can't quite sit still, and though his blasts are sure, there's a weird purple tinge to his yellow face. It almost looks like he's blushing.

He kills the guy, of course, because he's Orange, and he's crouching down to begin the long and long-disgusting process of eating the body when he almost faints. If you thought there was something wrong before, there almost certainly is now: it's like the light goes off in his big eyes for a split second, and he's midway through toppling to the ground when they go back on and he catches himself with catlike alien grace. Then he takes the arm of the guy, yanks back the sleeve, and begins to dig in. 

"Uh," you say, because you don't want to interrupt him when he's eating a human, "are you okay?" 

He looks down at the body. There's blood all around his mouth and you think it's weird that you are theoretically no longer afraid of him. He has feline eyes and a smooth face and his skin is cool and slick to the touch, made out of a million little scales, like an earth snake. He walks silently and when he kills someone he smiles so intensely it's like a hundred spotlights made of tiny sharp teeth. You are, in all honesties, absolutely terrified of him, but it doesn't mean you can't stick with him. 

"Yes," he says, drawing out the syllable in a way that means 'no'. 

"What does that mean?" you ask, and you circle around the body to touch him on the shoulder, moon rock crunchy under your feet. "Should we find a space doctor?" 

"No," he says, and you swear he's blushing. "Look. It's, it's... an embarrassing alien problem, okay?" 

"Jeeze," you mutter, because he has a lot of embarrassing alien problems, like killing almost everyone he meets. You feel lucky, a lot of the time. "Come on. What is it?" 

He takes another bite out of the arm and chews for a long time, as if thinking what to tell you. Finally, he swallows and sighs. "Uh. Gods. I'm in alien mating season." 

"What," you say, a flat statement. 

"If I don't get space love, I'll die." 

"What," you say, again. 

"Don't "what" me," he says, and his voice is beginning to get frustrated, hysterical. "This is serious! I've been, been hiding it from you, but we're-- light years away from Anna and my wife, I'd never make it back in time, I'm going to die--" 

He's panicking. You've never seen him panic before. 

"No, no, hey," you say, trying to calm him down, get him focused on you. "We can just, uh, on the next planet we're on, there's gotta be space prostitutes. You'll be fine." 

"Oh, gods," he moans, and takes a vicious bite out of the arm. You wince. He busies himself with chewing and then nods. "Okay." 

You're on the ship when you realize that this is a real thing. You and Orange saved up a little, bought a dinky flight pod, and it doesn't go so fast, but it's yours. You have your own little bed nook, built into the wall. Orange does most of the flying. He's gotten a little better at the landings. 

You've long since given up on ever getting his real name. He's never told it to you, and the name he gives other people is always different. It's probably because he's an outlaw, technically, in many different solar systems, but it's also more fun that way. You call him Orange, in your head. He calls you whatever comes to mind. 

Orange is walking across the pod's little kitchen when he passes out, again. You're reading a magazine and you see it from the corner of your eye. He drops his mug and goes down like a sack of bricks, hitting his head on the counter, and you're up in a second and running the four steps to him. 

"Oh god," you yell, crouching and looking into his face. He opens his eyes, looks slightly annoyed. 

"No need to shout," he says, and then "ow," rubbing his head. You have your helmet off and you realize you're almost spitting into his face. 

"Are you all right?" you ask. His head's not bleeding. You've only seen his blood once, a viscous purple goo, and you don't like to think about it. 

"Aliens have very thick skulls," he tells you, matter-of-factly, and then frowns. "I'm, er, I'm worried, though. If we're being honest." 

"About... the thing?" you say, feeling stupid. "It's not too far from the next planet." 

"It's a week's trip," he says, and he looks... scared. His pupils are tiny. "I won't make it." 

"Yes, you will," you say firmly, because how could he not? He's Orange. He survives anything. 

"No," he says, and his face is flushed a dark purple. "I won't. Um," he begins, and you hold up a hand to cut him off. 

"No," you say, because you know what he's going to say, and the answer is automatic. You don't even think about it. His eyes narrow. 

"I am going to die," he says, putting emphasis on the last word. "And besides, you're an attractive guy, I'm an attractive guy..." 

"You're an alien!" you burst, and then feel very, very dumb. 

"So it's a race thing, is it?" he asks, frowning. "I thought better of you, really--" 

"No, it's not--" 

"I never thought my best friend would be a racist--" 

"Stop it!" you yell, and frown at him as he falls into silence. "God. Let me... think about it." 

"Fine," he says, and his lack of argument is what scares you the most. He turns to look at the wall, and his shoulders are a wall themselves, blocking off any further conversation. You go to get a tube of protein paste from the fridge slot in the wall, momentarily cursing space food. 

He barely sleeps at all, that night. You can hear him tossing and turning from your bed, and when you look over, you can see his eyes glowing in the dark. You have trouble sleeping, yourself. 

You're terrified of him, but there's something about Orange that keeps you with him, stuck like glue. You don't know what it is. Maybe it's the fact that he likes you-- he always has. He hates humans and you are a human and he hasn't eaten you yet, or even tried seriously. That has to count for something. 

He's ruined your life in so many little ways, killed your friends, hurt you, but he's still your best friend. He can knock back drinks better than anyone. He buys you little gifts, books, weird alien snacks. The one time you've seen him angry, truly angry, was when you were under threat of assassination. Then he had been furious and he had fought for you and you remember the blood running down his face, the way he wiped it away from his eyes without a second thought. He had fought for you.

You make up your mind. 

"Okay," you tell him in the morning. He's wearing his pajamas, boxers and a t-shirt, and you are wearing much of the same. His legs are smooth and hairless and he's sitting cross-legged on his bed, paging through the magazine you had dropped yesterday in your panic. He looks up, his pupils narrowing. 

"Huh?" 

"Okay, I'll, we can…" and you're fumbling over your words, running one hand through your hair nervously. "You know. Um." 

"Oh," Orange says, and he places the magazine on the bed next to him, neatly, before standing up and crossing the room. He sits next to you, barely making a dip in the bed. He's smiling, nervous himself, and then laughs. "You'll make hot space love with me?" 

You groan in response, falling backwards, head pillowed against the sheets. Your pod is in the middle of nowhere, cruising as fast as it can towards the nearest planet, but it'll still take a couple of days, and you don't think he'll last a couple of days. He's silent, for a second, and then lies down next to you. Your arms are touching, and his is cool against your burning skin. 

"I knew you couldn't resist," he says, and his voice is amused. "No one can resist this, babes." 

You turn your head and look at him, how large his eyes are, the slits of his nostrils, and your stomach flutters as you think about how he's your best friend. You would do anything for him. You have done anything for him. You can do this for him. 

You tilt forward, a little, and register the surprise in his eyes a second before you kiss him. It's different. You've never kissed anything like him before. His lips are smooth and he kisses back, delicately at first, then with more passion. You open your mouth and he does, too, and his tongue probes inquisitively. It's-- good. If you're being honest. Something about it feels good, right. You're helping a friend. 

Then you feel something else in his mouth, something that tries to join the first tongue, and you yelp in surprise and horror and jerk back. 

"Aliens!" you gasp, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. 

"Oh," he says, and begins to laugh. "I forgot humans only have one tongue." 

"How many tongues do you have?" you ask. If it's more than two, you're done. You're absolutely done. 

"Only two," says Orange, and you sigh in relief. "Though I had a friend that had five. Imagine that!" 

"I'd… rather not," you say, firmly. You shudder. 

"I heard his wife was rather happy," he says, with a snicker, and you punch him in the shoulder. His voice is so pleasant and polite that it shocks you sometimes when he says things like that. 

"Come on," you say, and he smiles at you, showing all of his terrifying teeth. Your heart flip-flops and he leans over you, one slender hand coming up to touch your hair. He leans in, a little more, and your mouths meet. He bites your lower lip a little, not hard enough to break the skin, and your body tingles. He tangles his fingers in your hair, tugging gently, and you're suddenly breathless. His tongues slide into your mouth again, and now that you know how many there are, it's not that bad. 

He slides his free hand under your shirt, exploring your skin. Your breath hitches, again, and he pulls away for a second. 

"Humans are so soft," he says, voice almost wistful. You shiver. 

"Don't say it like that," you say, punching him in the arm again. He scowls at you. "You sound like you want to eat me."

He leans close, face almost pressing against your neck, and you can feel his warm breath as he smells in. He licks your skin with one tongue, and the heat of his mouth tingles through you, lighting a fire inside. 

You want to see his body. You sit up and he sits up with you, raising his arms as you tug his t-shirt off his chest. He smiles at you and you smile back, still nervous. 

He's shaped like you are. Orange has defined collarbones and you trace the lines of his ribcage with your fingers. He has no nipples and no navel and you think oh god, does his species lay eggs, is he like an earth snake or an earth bird? His skin is slick to the touch, soft and made up of millions of tiny interlocking scales, like the most intricate chain armor you can imagine. He's looking at your hand, your gentle fingers, and his eyes are hooded. He's not smiling but he's not frowning either. Your fingers reach the elastic of his boxers and then stop.

He sits up and kisses you again, capturing your hand between his. He brings it down, hooking your fingers into his waistband. You slide your tongue into his mouth, careful not to cut yourself on his teeth, and his mouth tastes like salt. 

He pulls down, freeing himself from his boxers. You're intensely, insanely curious, so you untangle yourself from his kiss and look down.

He has a tentacle. A yellow tentacle, slick and shiny with fluids, and as you watch with wide eyes it gently touches your hand. It's warm, unlike the rest of him. 

You should be-- what, grossed out? Terrified? But you're not. You've seen a lot of things in space, and this doesn't rank up there with the weirder ones. His tentacle curls around your wrist, and there's almost… something cute about it, in a way. 

"Wow," you say. He flushes bright purple. 

"Do you like it?" he asks, trying to sound confident, but he's clearly embarrassed. "Humans don't have that."

"It's kind of cute," you say. 

"Cute?!" he exclaims, eyes going wide. "It's not cute!" 

"It is," you say. You twist your hand around and take in your fist. You can feel his heartbeat, pulsing slowly. It's soft, not scaled, you can feel him shiver as you give an experimental pump. 

"Oh, Gods," he says, and he's on you like an animal, tearing off your shirt before you can blink. He throws it on the ground and begins yanking on your boxer shorts, trying to get them off, and with a little resigned sigh you arch your body to help him. You're half hard, already, and he looks down at your naked body with a smile on his face. 

"Now that's cute," he says, and you lash your knee out at him, hitting him on the leg. He bares his teeth and a shiver goes through you, but it's not a bad one. Orange tiptoes his fingers across your belly and down through the trail of hair that begins there. 

"I like this stuff," he says, leaning forwards to kiss you, just a quick little kiss. "Seems very… animalistic. Very mammal." 

You roll your eyes at him. "Humans are mammals," you inform him, and he looks startled. 

"What?" he says, and you're not sure if he's joking. "I'm making space love with a mammal?" 

You sit up and shut him up by kissing him. This close, you can feel the tentacle between his legs roaming, tickling your lower stomach. He shoves you over, pressing his tongues into your mouth at the same time, tangling up yours. His tentacle is pressed up against you, a beacon of wet warmth, and you make an embarrassing little whining noise and wrap your arms around his torso, grinding up against him. He doesn't provide a lot of leverage, and you nudge against him until he lifts his hips a little, allowing his tentacle to wrap around your cock.

That feels good. It feels impossibly good, and you rock up as his tentacle writhes around you, sliding up and down. You're being stimulated all over at once. He makes a weird nose deep in the back of his throat, almost a purring, and you want to hear it again, so you thrust against him, biting his lip at the same time. You tug, a little, with your teeth, and and he makes that noise again, this time louder. 

"What is that?" you say, laughing a little. He opens his eyes and looks at you, momentarily confused, and then figures out what you mean. 

"You, ah, feel good," he says, shuddering as he ruts against you, "I don't ask about your bizarre bird noises." 

You answer him with a kiss, rubbing your nose against the nub of his. His body is strange but it fits together so well with yours. Just helping a friend, you remind yourself, again. You really would do anything for him. 

You reach a hand between the two of you to cup his tentacle as it squirms around you, adding a little extra stimulation. He gasps at that, a full-on gasp, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his face into the spot between your neck and your shoulder. You can feel his breathing, hot and ragged, and you rub your fingers over him.

He bites your shoulder, hard enough to draw blood, and comes. You can feel hot liquid all over your stomach, a lot of it, and his tentacle squeezes and pulls around you hard enough that you come too, one arm still wrapped around him.

There's an exhausted, pleasant moment, and then he kisses you one last time before rolling off of you. You can taste your own blood on his mouth, and it should be unpleasant, but there's something sweet about it, instead. 

"Well," he says, a little breathless, "thank you. You really saved my hide, friend." 

You're tired, tired enough that it takes you a second to answer. "No problem," you say, and that's funny, gigantically funny. You laugh, throwing your arm over your eyes. 

"Really," he says, voice firm, "really really." 

You pull your arm away, opening your eyes to look at him. "You're my best friend," you say. "It's no problem."

He smiles, relaxing. "Good. We just need to do this nine more times, and then we'll be all set until next year!" 

You groan, long and loud, and roll over to face the wall. Of course.


End file.
